Unwritten Moments
by themockingjayandpeeta
Summary: This takes place the night before the 75th Hunger Games, or the Quarter Quell. It shows how Peeta & Katniss deal w/ there pressure that could be their last night alive.


This story takes place the night before the 75th Hunger Games.

As usual, I did not write Hunger Games.

She turned to him that night. He had made a habit of coming to her room, sleeping next to her, ever since the nightmares, her screams, had woken him up. She welcomed him, welcomed the comfort he gave her. She slept soundly with his even breathing next to her. She'd gotten used to it, gotten used to the rhythm of his heartbeat.

Tonight he was late. Normally he'd had been there by now. Perhaps he had decided to sleep alone. She didn't want him to sleep alone. She wanted him here, with her. So when her door opened, their quarter's silent with sleep, she sat up and watched him as he softly called her name.

When he saw that she was still up, and their eyes locked, she crawled out of bed and approached him. He didn't seem surprised. When she embraced him he wrapped his arms around her as if he had knew what she needed. When she kissed him he was no longer surprised as to why the called her the Girl on Fire.

He was not surprised until he finally pulled away, breathing hard. He looked at her and saw the heat in her eyes.

Katniss," he said softly.

"Peeta." It was a plea. A whimper, almost, and suddenly he knew what it was she was asking.

"Katniss," he said again, his heart pounding.

She did not answer. Instead she kissed him again, this time roughly, forcefully. Her tongue invaded his mouth, and he responded, just as needy as she. When he heard a moan escape low from her throat he heard himself growl in response.

"Katniss," said Peeta firmly, finally breaking away.

"Please," she responded. "I need you. I need this. We could be dead tomorrow. Just make me feel alive, Peeta."

Who was he to resist? They probably _would_ be dead tomorrow, and if he didn't do this, he'd spend those last few hours of his life regretting it.

He pushed aside everything—the feelings he had hoped were real that were never returned, the fake proposal, the fake _marriage_—had she known how hard that was for him? How hard it all was? He pushed it all aside as she stared at him, waiting for his response.

"Are you sure?"

He got his answer when she crushed her mouth to his again. His control was so close to snapping. This time it was his own moan from deep in his throat that he heard. He picked her up and walked to the bed, never breaking his lips from hers. Their tongues pushed and shoved, and when she bit his bottom lip he tore his mouth away from hers. Her hands moved underneath his shirt, her nails dragging against his chest. He inhaled sharply, enjoying the feel of her touching him.

He nearly started to protest when she stopped caressing his skin, but before he could utter a word of complaint her lips were back on his, and her hands were removing his robe, then pushing his shirt up over his head. She did not break their kiss until the last possible second, and their lips were back on each other's before the shirt even hit the ground.

Then suddenly it was escalated. Everything was a white-hot blur. He was pulling her own nightgown over her head, his pants were off, then he was on top of her, both of them on the bed.

Her breathing was ragged, and when he looked down at her, he allowed himself one brief sentimental thought: she was beautiful, with her raven black hair and deep blue eyes. For one brief moment he was stunned, stunned that he was here, and she was underneath him.

"Are you sure?" They were the only words he could say, the only question he could ask. He so desperately wanted this, but he desperately wanted it _all_….

"I'm sure," she told him firmly. Then she lifted her head and kissed him again, and any second thoughts, any worries, any second-guesses, flew out the window. When she finished kissing him he buried his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling. He took one deep breath and entered her, smoothly and swiftly. She cried out, though it was muffled as she had sunk her teeth into his shoulder.

He jerked at the pain, then welcomed it as it turned to pleasure. He gently, ever so gently, because she was so tight, so, so, _so_ tight, started moving in and out of Katniss. She stifled a moan and immediately started rising to meet his thrusts.

Suddenly he understood what she meant. She wanted to feel alive, and what was better than this? What was better than blood pumping, low moans, touching, giving, receiving, back arching?

Was he even in control anymore? Suddenly everything disappeared. There was only Katniss. There was _always_ only Katniss. When her nails dug into his bare back, instead of bringing him back to reality, it enhanced the fact that there was nothing else in the world but them. She gasped his name as he sped up, thrusting deeper, and when he felt her clench around him it took everything within him to not cum.

When he finally did, after several moments of loud breathing, swallowing moans with kisses, gripping hands to enhance the tension, it was her chanting his name that finally undid him. It was such a soft plea, almost like a prayer, as she said his name, over and over again, her breath tickling his ear.

He choked out her name, one good time, and spilled himself into her.

Breathing hard, he buried his face into her neck again, willing his breath to come back to him. He felt her body slowly start to relax, and then he gently pulled himself out of her, ignoring the fact that it felt like he'd lost the other half of himself as he did so.

He lied next to her, his heat still pounding relatively quickly. He smiled faintly when Katniss rested her head on his chest.

It was then, and only then, that he remembered the gold medallion hanging around his neck.

She woke up in the middle of the night to slip on her night gown.

"You okay?" asked Peeta softly. It was the first words they had spoken.

She turned and faced him, dressed. "Yah. I was just cold." He nodded his understanding and she turned back around to add more logs to the fire. When she walked back towards the bed Peeta had just finished putting his pants back on.

When they climbed back into bed, he held his breath. But his fear was quickly diminished when her head found its way back to his chest.

The next morning she told him she didn't want to be with anybody else in the Arena. Just him.

And like last night, and the first time she asked him to stay with her, like any other question she asked, or anything else she had ever wanted, he obliged.


End file.
